


How to Win Friends and Influence People

by Kithri, themanwhowas



Series: Mixed Signals [1]
Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/themanwhowas/pseuds/themanwhowas
Summary: A mutual crossover betweenMixed Feelingsby Kithri (Kittius on SpaceBattles, whereMFis also posted) andCompletely Unoriginalby themanwhowas.





	How to Win Friends and Influence People

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative effort with themanwhowas to show what might happen if Fax and Talos ever met. Continuity-wise, this is Fax without Butcher, and Astrid around arc 4. Unexpectedly, their continuities can mesh surprisingly well, although their stories would veer in wildly different directions after this.
> 
> Talos and Fax is like a trainwreck. A glorious trainwreck of mismatched perceptions and social awkwardness and poor decision-making skills. Collaborating with themanwhowas was a lot of fun, and you should check out his excellent story [Completely Unoriginal](https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/completely-unoriginal-yet-another-cyoa-si-mc-in-brockton-bay.526825/) for Fax's further misadventures.

**Prologue : Fax**  
  
A new Ward? The fuck?  
  
I watched the video on my phone. Details removed, of course, faces blurred, but there were un-edited videos out there if you were persistent enough. Fuckin' weird power, too. Some sort of reality-warper?  
  
And then the new Ward was announced. Her presence was weird enough - coinciding neatly with my own arrival - but there was no fucking mention of a new goddamn Ward at this point in canon.  
  
Did I mess this up? Did I butterfly her into existence?  
  
Did Lung kill her, in the canon timeline, just another casualty, and my helping to capture him - _burning, screaming_ \- meant that she lived long enough to join up with the heroes?  
  
Or... was she another insert?  
  
On the one hand, I was a _smidgen_ upset at the idea that I wasn't a special goddamn snowflake. On the other hand, maybe there was more going on that she could be key to.  
  
On the gripping hand, maybe she was just a fluke. A dice rolls in the forest and no one is around - if it lands tilted, will a nerd still insist on a reroll?  
  
In any case, I was curious. Miss Militia didn't even bat an eyelash when I asked to meet this shiny new mystery, although she did warn me she could be... abrasive.  
  
How bad could she be?  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
**Part I : Talos**  
  
_Who’s this asshole, and what is he doing in the Wards HQ?_  
  
That was my first thought when the costumed… guy? I thought he was a guy. Pretty short, though, even if he was built like a brick shithouse. Or a shorter version of Carlos. (I quashed the reflexive envy without really having to think about it.) Maybe a potential new Ward? Anyway, that was my first thought when he stuck his head around the kitchen door and gave the dorkiest wave.  
  
At least now I knew the reason for the mask-up alarm.  
  
He was in costume, of a sort. Slacks, boots, grey jacket and cap. Nothing over his eyes, but between the jacket’s high collar and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, his nose, cheeks, mouth and chin were completely obscured.  
  
“So, you’re the new Ward, huh?” he said. “You got a name yet?”  
  
Definitely male, and the sound of his voice made me revise my estimate of his age upwards. Unlikely to be a new Ward, but had to be a cape. If the costume didn’t give it away, the confidence did.  
  
Still sticking to ‘asshole,’ though. At least until and unless he proved otherwise.  
  
“Yes,” I said shortly, finishing draining the pasta and setting the pan and colander aside so I could turn to face the interloper. “Who are you?”  
  
He moved into the kitchen, and I had to remind myself that if he’d got this far, he must’ve had the right clearance. He probably wasn’t an enemy.  
  
(He almost certainly hadn’t been sent by my father to drag me back home.)  
  
Thankfully, he came to a halt before he got too close; didn’t try to shake my hand.  
  
“I’m Fax! Independent hero.” He made jazz hands. Because of course he fucking did. I couldn’t see his mouth, but when he next spoke, I could practically hear the shit-eating grin. “So… what do I call you? New Girl?”  
  
Oh, **that** guy. Yeah, I’d heard of him. Acted like a clown, but by all accounts was packing some serious firepower.  
  
“Talos,” I said stiffly, trying and failing to keep the anger out of my voice. “Definitely not New Girl.”  
  
It belatedly occurred to me that I probably could stand to be a little less hostile to the guy who’d cut out Oni Lee’s eyes. He didn’t seem to take offence, though, just taking a step back and putting his hands up in a mockery of surrender.  
  
(I suppressed the urge to flinch at the sudden movement, thoroughly annoyed at myself for even having that stupid instinct.)  
  
“Gotcha. Talos. Definitely not New Girl.”  
  
I nodded, slightly mollified by his easy capitulation. And only a little bit irked by the mockery.  
  
“Nice to meet you.” I eyed him, hoping my mask hid the suspicion I was sure must have been written all over my face. “Did you want something?”  
  
He ambled a few steps to the side so he could lounge against the countertop.  
  
(Was it weak to be glad that he wasn’t blocking the exit? That there was a table between us?)  
  
(Not that either of those would really help.)  
  
(Fucking movers.)  
  
(Fucking blasters.)  
  
(Fucking **capes**.)  
  
“So, are you new-new, or a transfer?”  
  
He didn't answer my question, the jackass. But that wasn’t a denial, so he obviously did want something from me.  
  
What the fuck was it?  
  
And did he really have to come and see me about it while I was in the middle of trying to make my fucking dinner?  
  
Fucking asshole.  
  
A little voice in my head tied to tell me that the shitty timing probably wasn’t deliberate; that he almost certainly wasn’t actively trying to keep me from my food.  
  
It did sweet fuck all to help my irritation.  
  
_Keep it together, idiot,_ I told myself sternly.  
  
The last thing I needed was to piss off someone who could fucking break me without so much as working up a sweat.  
  
“I’m new,” I said frostily. Dammit. I was supposed to be reining that in. Oh well, too late now. I watched him intently for any sign of tension, or anger. He just seemed confused, though, his brows drawn together in what looked more like thoughtfulness than fury. “Why?” I couldn’t help asking.  
  
“New to Brockton Bay, maybe?” he tried.  
  
I wasn’t entirely sure, but it almost sounded like he wanted me to say yes.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Had we crossed paths before? Could we perhaps have met in one of the countless other places I’d lived before my fucked up little family had made its inexorable way back to Brockton fucking Bay? It wasn’t entirely inconceivable, although I didn’t have a clue why he would recognise me when I didn’t know him from Adam. I knew I wan’t that memorable.  
  
Or… fuck. Could he… Could he maybe have known my mother?  
  
Hellfire and damnation.  
  
_Just… just play it cool._  
  
Whatever this was, it was probably nothing. Coincidence at most. And even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to prove a damn thing as long as I kept my fucking cool.  
  
Or, actually, maybe it would be better if I didn’t.  
  
I shifted position slightly and gave him a flat, unfriendly stare.  
  
“No,” I said curtly. And, more a demand than a question, “What do you want?”  
  
Finally, he seemed to pick up on my reaction to his stupid fucking questions. With an almost apologetic look, he gave a weak chuckle; glanced away for a bit. When he looked back, he managed to approximate something almost like a professional manner.  
  
Almost.  
  
“Well,” he said. “I don’t know if they explained what my power is?”  
  
His hands twitched a little as he spoke, like he wanted to gesture, but stopped himself.  
  
_Fuck. Guess I must be twitchier than I thought._  
  
Humiliation burned inside me, and I tried to tell myself it that it was unreasonable of me to be angry at him for showing consideration for my utter patheticness.  
  
Completely fucking unreasonable.  
  
It didn’t help.  
  
“You copy powers, right?” I answered.  
  
He nodded. “Yeap.” Fucking stupid way to pronounce ‘yep.’ “Fractionally and temporarily.” Did he twitch then, or was it just my imagination? “Heard your power was pretty freakin’ cool, wondering if you’d consent to letting me try it out for a bit.”  
  
I had to admit, my first response was a burst of pride at the fact that he thought my power was cool. Hard on the heels of that, of course, was anger that I’d think something so idiotic. I mean, sure, my power was fucking awesome, but it wasn’t as if I could take any kind of credit for it.  
  
And then the rest of his words sank in.  
  
_No,_ I thought, only just managing to stop myself from telling him to go fuck himself sideways with a shovel. I had to be careful about this. I had to be smart.  
  
“Have you cleared it with my superiors?”  
  
“Um…” He shifted a little, his voice turning sheepish. “I was… planning to?”  
  
I shook my head, amused despite myself at his blatant overacting, despite the instinctive disapproval welling up inside me.  
  
“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?” I asked dryly.  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“It works for me.”  
  
_Well of course it fucking works for you,_ I thought bitterly. _You don’t have a goddamn chain of command. No one’s going to discipline the shit out of you for stepping out of line._  
  
If they even could.  
  
(Fucking brutes.)  
  
“Usually more fucking trouble than it’s worth,” I said, in a clipped tone, trying not to think about all the pain that disobedience had brought me over the years. “Easier just to follow procedure in the first place.”  
  
The fucker actually laughed like he thought I was making a joke.  
  
“I’m not a… big fan of procedure?”  
  
From everything I’d managed to find out, that was the understatement of the fucking century. Not entirely sure why he said it like a question, though. What was his accent, anyway? Largely kind of non-specific, but there was the occasional twang of something… Texan maybe?  
  
(Shit. What information was I unintentionally giving away every time I opened my mouth?)  
  
“So I’ve heard.” Envy was like a knife in my gut.  
  
_It must be nice to be powerful enough not to have to worry about what anyone might do to you._  
  
There was a brief pause before he answered. Hesitating? Considering his words? Or had I given something away with my tone or my expression?  
  
“Sometimes you just gotta wing it, you know? Let loose every once in a while? Fly around and see what happens?”  
  
_I’d love to fly,_ I couldn’t help thinking.  
  
Loath as I was to admit it, there was something… not entirely irritating about his clear enthusiasm. He reminded me a little of Dennis in that regard.  
  
“And sometimes what happens is you get the shit smacked out of you,” I replied.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That definitely happens.”  
  
It sounded like he was speaking from experience.  
  
“Yeah,” I echoed, not knowing what else to say.  
  
He studied me for a moment or two. I resisted the urge to fiddle with my mask, reminding myself that I wasn’t damaged right now. Not visibly, anyway. There was nothing for him to see.  
  
(And fuck if that didn’t still feel really goddamn weird. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.)  
  
(I wondered if I’d have the chance to get used to it.)  
  
When he eventually spoke, he actually sounded serious.  
  
“If you ever need an off the books healer… I know a guy.”  
  
Why would he offer that? What did he want?  
  
What was he trying to say?  
  
“I’m fine.” That came out a little harsher than I was intending. I tried to soften it with a belated, “Thank you.”  
  
He shrugged, like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I was just being paranoid.  
  
(‘It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.’)  
  
“Offer’s open,” he said, cheerfully. “Or if you ever want to go flying. Not, like, bridal carry or anything. You’d get your own force-field bubble. Took Miss Militia out for a spin a little bit ago. I just don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity. Assuming you’re okay with me copying your power, anyway.” A brief pause. “And if your superiors allow it.”  
  
Was he offering a trade? Was that what this was?  
  
But… why?  
  
It wasn’t like he needed my permission. At least, I didn’t think it was.  
  
“It… might be interesting to try flying,” I found myself saying, cringing inside at how fucking wistful I sounded. I forced my expression and voice back under something resembling control. “What would copying my power involve?” Not that I was really considering this, but it couldn’t hurt to have the information. Assuming he told the truth, of course. “Would it… affect my own use of it?” I should have stopped there, I knew, but I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “How do I know you haven’t already done it?”  
  
I tensed, half-expecting an angry response, but he just stayed exactly where he was, lounging against the counter.  
  
“I’d just need to be in the same room with you.” He said the words casually, like he wasn’t telling me that he could take my power at any time, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do to stop him. “Doesn’t affect your power at all,” he continued. So I wouldn’t even know he’d done it? Fucking awesome. “And, as for your last question…” He shrugged. “You don’t, I guess. It’d be a dick move, though. You could always say no and see if I end up using your powers later if you want to be sure.” Was he… taunting me? Was this bastard son of a motherfucking whore taunting me? Rubbing my face in just how fucking helpless I was to stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted? What a goddamn **asshole**. While I reeled inside, trying to keep all trace of my thoughts from my face, the asshole continued speaking. “Well, the PRT probably wouldn’t have let me meet you if they were worried about that, if that helps.”  
  
“Unless you’d convinced them they didn’t need to worry,” I couldn’t help saying. I shrugged, my next words edged with a bitter kind of amusement. “Better forgiveness than permission, right?” Apprehension trailed icy fingers down my spine as I realised just how isolated I was in here. “And it’s not like I could stop you, is it?”  
  
His brows drew together above his mask; a frown. Was he angry? Had I pissed him off?  
  
I was suddenly hyper-aware of the metal beneath my feet, underneath the vinyl floor covering. I could… No. I was overreacting. This wasn’t the time.  
  
(But it was nice to know the option was there. Just in case.)  
  
“I’d like to give the PRT a little more credit than that, I think. But, like I said, if you don’t want to let me copy your power, you don’t have to. It’s not like your superiors have already approved it and would be disappointed if you said no.” He paused a moment, and his scarf shifted in a way that made me think he might be smiling. Baring his teeth, anyway. “See? Some benefit to my way of doing things.”  
  
Except… Except if they knew how his power worked, and they still allowed him down here, wasn’t that the same as tacitly approving his request? Fuck. Were they expecting me to say yes? It wasn’t like he needed my permission, not really, but if he went back and told the PRT I’d refused…  
  
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint them,” I said stiffly, trying to ignore the crawling, claustrophobic feeling, like the walls were closing in. (Trying not to wonder how the PRT punished disobedience.) “If they… approved it, I wouldn’t object.”  
  
_It’s **mine** , and he’s just going to… to take it. Just because he wants to. Just because he can._  
  
I tried to tell myself that it was copying, not stealing; that I’d still have it, afterwards.  
  
It didn’t help.  
  
“Yeah, nope. Not gonna happen, now.” He started to gesture, and I almost flinched. Or maybe it was a little more than almost, because he froze mid-gesticulation, lowering his hands back down to the counter. Little by little, his voice rose as he continued, and he sounded weirdly… agitated. “I’m not gonna ask, you or them. Consent is a big deal. If you need a healer, or want to go flying, or a non-Protectorate person to talk to, MM has my number, but as far as I’m concerned your power is yours and yours alone until you say otherwise. And mean it.”  
  
What? He… what?  
  
I stared at him, not fully able to process what he was saying.  
  
_He’s not going to take my power?_  
  
But…  
  
“Why?”  
  
He didn’t answer right away, and when he did finally speak, his voice was quiet again, almost soft.  
  
“When I first copied Miss Militia on accident, I saw the look on her face when she saw her little green-black blob of energy — the thing that defined her power, helped define her — dancing on my hip. I’m not about to do that to someone else. Not if I can help it.”  
  
I turned the words over in my mind, considering them from every angle I could think of. He certainly sounded like he meant that, but…  
  
I took a moment to be absolutely certain my voice and expression were under control before I replied.  
  
“You’ve copied other people’s powers.”  
  
I hoped he didn’t take that as an accusation.  
  
The silence stretched for a few beats, like maybe he was considering my words the way I’d considered his, and then he gave a slow nod.  
  
“I couldn’t help it, at first. Brand new to my power, copied the first person I ran into. Would you believe I copied Skidmark first?” He huffed out a breath, bitter-edged amusement in his voice as he added, “Wouldn’t have been my first pick, let me tell you.”  
  
Was he serious? I tilted my head a little, considering him.  
  
“Lots of combat potential for Skidmark’s power,” I mused, half-wondering if this was a test of some kind. It certainly made me think about the random questions Dad used to throw my way to make sure I’d been paying attention like I was supposed to. (I tried not to wonder what the penalty would be for failure.) “Coat your glove with it and punch a motherfucker,” I continued. “Instant force multiplier.” I tried to keep the sneer out of my voice as I added, “Not that you really need that, I guess.” I had the uncomfortable feeling I hadn’t been successful. Nor did I manage to stop myself from muttering, “Fucking brutes.”  
  
“Huh,” he said, after a moment. “Never thought of that.”  
  
_Really?_  
  
I raised my eyebrows a little, wondering if he was fucking with me. But then… from what I’d seen of him, both here in person and in the video clips that seemed to infest the local PHO board since his debut, he didn’t exactly move like a real fighter. I mean, sure, he fought, but his power could cover a multitude of sins.  
  
(Dad would have beaten me bloody if I’d demonstrated that kind of piss-poor situational awareness. And I would’ve deserved it, too.)  
  
“Battlefield control too,” I continued, unable to leave the subject alone. “And, as a flier, you can restrict the enemy’s mobility on the ground without having to worry about fucking yourself over.”  
  
“Damn. You’re good at this.” He actually sounded admiring. Like he really meant that. I found myself standing a little straighter at the praise, no matter how sternly I told myself that it didn’t fucking mean anything. “Maybe I should…” He trailed off, the silence stretching awkwardly for a few moments until he suddenly said, “I should run my powers by you when I got ’em. Let’s see… In the last four days I’ve picked up… the Pelhams, Browbeat, and Fenja and Menja. Whatcha got?”  
  
A challenge?  
  
I felt myself smile.  
  
I could handle a challenge.  
  
_Okay then, asshole. How about this?_  
  
I went through some of the possibilities available to him. It was actually kind of fun, coming up with different combinations that should work well together. Of course, some of this was stuff I’d thought about before, when I’d studied up on the capes of Brockton Bay, trying to figure out their strengths and weaknesses.  
  
Trying to come up with ways to take them out.  
  
Fuck. Was I giving anything away that I shouldn’t? Was he just giving me enough rope to hang myself?  
  
_Probably better wrap this up._  
  
Even if it was fun.  
  
“Of course,” I concluded, hoping I didn’t seem too awkward, “it’s mostly just common sense.”  
  
“Oh man, this is great stuff.” He really did seem genuinely impressed. “You say common sense, but most of that never even occurred to me.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I guess you can get away with being sloppy.” Oh, fuck! I’d said that out loud. “Uh, I didn’t mean that as an insult,” I hastened to add.  
  
“Ha! No, that’s entirely fair.”  
  
Huh. Well, he didn’t seem angry. I let out a quiet breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.  
  
He started to reach into his coat pocket. I tensed, and he stopped moving, then slowly reached in with two fingers to snag a small rectangle of cardboard. A business card?  
  
“Powers or no, I owe you,” he said, to my absolute shock. “I’m gonna leave my card here on the counter. Call me if you need anything, yeah? And I may call you if I get a new power in the mix, see what you come up with.”  
  
He set the card down. I looked at it and then back at him.  
  
“You mean that?” I was thoroughly, hopelessly confused. What was he playing at? What was his game? “You’d help if I asked?”  
  
He blinked at me for a moment, seemingly taken aback by my question.  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
“Oh.” Well… shit. He actually seemed to mean that. Huh. “Thank you.” Was he expecting something in return? Did he think I’d just offer up my power in gratitude? (Or had he already taken it, and this was his way of balancing the scales in his own mind?) I dithered for a moment, considering my response, and then made a decision. I pulled out a card of my own — freshly minted; still crisp and new-smelling — and crossed the room to set it down on the counter where he could reach it. (I drew the line at actually handing it to him. I wasn’t going to get that close if I could help it.) “You can call me if you have more questions,” I told him, “but I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer.” I had to swallow against a sudden nervous fluttering in my chest. “I don’t know what the rules are about fraternising with independents.”  
  
“I can ask your superiors if you want. Do it by the book.”  
  
He might have been mocking me, but I actually didn’t give a fuck as long as he followed through. Nevertheless, I tried to conceal just how relieved I was as I nodded.  
  
“I’d prefer that, thank you.”  
  
“Okay, then.” He pocketed my card, stood up — slowly — and headed for the door. “See you around, Talos.”  
  
At least he didn’t call me fucking New Girl. That was definitely a point in his favour.  
  
“Goodbye, Fax.”  
  
When he’d gone, I picked up his card, turning it over in my fingers as I thought about what he’d said.  
  
Would I call him if I needed help?  
  
Maybe. Maybe not. It was an option, though, and I’d be stupid to reject it out of hand.  
  
Even if it did more than likely come with strings attached.  
  
There was, however, one thing about which I was absolutely sure.  
  
I would be keeping an eye on Fax, independent so-called hero. And if I saw any sign — any sign at all — that, despite all his big talk about ‘consent,’ he’d taken my power after all…  
  
Well.  
  
One way or another, I would make him fucking pay.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
I **really** didn’t want to do this. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice. I glowered at my stupid ankle, now swollen to the size of a fucking grapefruit, and then I glowered at my phone.  
  
And then I stopped fucking around and made the goddamn call.  
  
“Heyyyyy, Talos! What's up?” Fax was slurring a little. Was he drunk? High? Fucking awesome.  
  
Well, no sense in beating about the bush. Best to get right to the point.  
  
“You said I could call if I needed an off the books healer.” My voice was a little more brusque than I intended, but that couldn’t be helped. “Is that still true?”  
  
He didn’t answer right away, the pause stretching long enough that I wondered if he’d even heard me. If I hadn’t been able to hear what sounded like the TV in the background — overly loud, naturally — I might have thought he’d hung up.  
  
“Uhhhh, yeah, of course,” he said eventually. “You okay?”  
  
_What a fucking stupid question,_ I couldn’t help thinking. _Like I would’ve called him if I had any other choice._  
  
“Just some surface damage,” I replied, taking comfort in the fact that he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes over the phone. “But it’s impairing my mobility to an unacceptable level and I need to be functional.” By which I meant I couldn’t walk more than a few steps right now, and that only with support. “Is your healer friend available?”  
  
Fuck, I really hoped so. Even aside from the small matter of how, exactly, I was going to make my way back to the PRT building, I really didn’t want to have to visit the infirmary if I could possibly help it. The last thing I wanted was to field awkward questions about how I’d managed to get myself banged up when I wasn’t even supposed to be out on patrol.  
  
To my profound relief, though, the next words out of Fax’s mouth were, “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t seem even the slightest bit fazed. Not did he ask any stupid or prying questions. Instead, all he said was, “Where d’you wanna meet? Meet them. The healer.”  
  
Yeah, he was definitely not firing on all cylinders right now. Still, I only needed him to keep his shit together long enough to get in contact with his healer friend. After that, I didn’t give a shit what debaucheries he indulged in.  
  
Assuming he wasn’t going to be coming with them.  
  
Fuck.  
  
(How did he behave when he was drunk? How easily did he lose his temper? How likely was he to lash out with his powers?)  
  
(My hands wanted to shake for some reason. I refused to let them.)  
  
“You’re not accompanying them, are you?” I asked flatly.  
  
“Uh, no,” he said, amiably enough. “Only sending one person. You're good.”  
  
_Thank fuck for that._  
  
I gave him directions to my location — an out of the way alleyway deeper in Empire territory than I was really comfortable with — speaking slowly and clearly, and making him repeat it back to me so I could be sure he got all the relevant details.  
  
When I was convinced he probably wasn’t going to forget it all the second we hung up, I added, “I suggest your friend keeps their eyes open. There are some real fucking assholes around these parts.”  
  
“Gotcha. Give it five minutes.”  
  
I opened my mouth to ask who I should be expecting, but before I could say a word, he hung up.  
  
_Well, shit._  
  
I thought about calling back, but what would be the point? He was probably getting in contact with his healer… friend? Ally? Person who owed him a favour? Anyway, whatever their relationship was, they’d probably be here soon.  
  
Assuming Fax didn’t just slip into a drugged haze the moment he hung up, of course.  
  
No, I shouldn’t think that way. He’d said he’d deliver. I didn’t have a reason to think he wouldn’t. Didn’t have a reason to think he would either, mind you, but still. Might as well hope for the best.  
  
Just as long as I prepared for the worst.  
  
About six minutes later (not that I was counting), I heard muted… swearing? Sounded like a woman’s voice, muttering something along the lines of, “All these fucking alleyways.”  
  
I could sympathise with the sentiment. At around the same time, one of my hair-thin warning wires snapped. A few moments later, a figure came into view. Female, unsurprisingly; tall, though, and muscular. Very muscular.  
  
_Wow._  
  
(I may possibly have been a little envious of her biceps.)  
  
The Amazon ambled her way along the alleyway, somehow keeping her balance on the uneven ground despite her improbably, impractically high heels. As much as I disapproved of the fucking stupid shoes, I couldn’t help admiring her ability to walk in them. Half of her head gleamed in the light from the lone working streetlamp at the mouth of the alleyway; shaved bald and smooth. The other half sprouted a shock of blonde hair, paler than my own. It was an eccentric hair style, that was for sure, but on her, somehow, it worked well.  
  
As did the jeans that seemed practically painted on.  
  
Still, with legs like that, I couldn’t exactly blame her for flaunting them.  
  
She peered into the darkest part of the alleyway, where the shadows clustered thick and deep; where I lurked like a spider in the centre of a web.  
  
(With the defences and traps I’d set up, connected to me by thin metal wires, the description, although perhaps a touch melodramatic, felt strangely fucking apt.)  
  
“Oi,” she called out, barely making any attempt to keep her voice down, “that you?”  
  
Unseen in the darkness, I rolled my eyes at the question, and tried to ignore the mingled hope and apprehension twisting my stomach in knots.  
  
“Who are you looking for?” I asked, relieved beyond all measure that my voice, at least, didn’t show any sign of my stupid attack of nerves.  
  
“Depends if you’re in costume or not.”  
  
She sounded amused, like she was laughing at some secret joke.  
  
A whisper of power, and I carefully moved my decoy just a little, making sure it caught the light. It should have been right in her eyeline. Except… except her gaze turned unerringly towards where I was supposed to be hidden; just one shadow in many thanks to my black, hooded bodysuit and dark mask.  
  
Shit. Something to do with her power, or just coincidence?  
  
_Doesn’t matter. Stick to the plan._  
  
“Assume I’m in costume,” I said. “So, who are you looking for? And who sent you?”  
  
Yeah, she probably was the person I was expecting. But that didn’t mean I was going to be stupid about it. Especially when I was behind enemy lines.  
  
“Talos. Uh, Fax sent me. You need a healer, right? That's me.”  
  
_Oh, thank fuck._  
  
“You found me,” I said. “And yeah. Thanks for coming out to shitsville in the middle of the night.”  
  
“Oh, thank gawhd,” she said, drawing out the word. “The nazis I’ve had to beat up tonight, I swear they’re like cockroaches.”  
  
Huh. I guessed that explained why she had bloody knuckles. And if she’d managed that despite her stupid shoes… My respect for her ticked up a notch or three.  
  
(I noted of her lack of injuries, and the casual way she described the fucking nazis as cockroaches, like they weren’t a threat. Brute, then, at least effectively.)  
  
(I had to remind myself that she was here to heal me.)  
  
I sent a cable snaking along the wall, beckoning to her. “This way. Watch your step.”  
  
It wouldn’t do to have her come a cropper on any of my caltrops or trip wires. Because of course there was no fucking way I was going to rely on hiding to keep myself safe. Especially when I was less than at my best right now. Not that I couldn’t take care of myself, but…  
  
Was it weak of me to be glad that my defences hadn’t been tested while I’d been waiting?  
  
“Ooh, fancy!” she said. I briefly wondered if she was mocking me, but she actually seemed genuinely impressed. Stupidly, I found myself smiling a little.  
  
My cable guided her through the one clear path. She did end up swaying too far a couple of times, once catching the heel of one of her highly impractical shoes on a caltrop and once snagging her awesome peacoat on a tripwire. Luckily, a little judicious metal reshaping stopped her going ass over tit.  
  
“What should I call you?” I asked.  
  
“Umm, call me… Mercy. Yeah. Let’s go with that.”  
  
Fine.  
  
I nodded at her from my less than comfortable seat on a chunk of detached brickwork.  
  
(I hadn’t even had to detach it myself. It had been like that when I found it.)  
  
(This place really was a fucking shithole.)  
  
“Hi, Mercy,” I said. I didn’t recognise the name, but that didn’t surprise me. I got the sense she’d just pulled it out of her ass. “I’m Talos. My right ankle’s a little fucked. I would greatly appreciate it if you could unfuck it for me.”  
  
She chuckled softly.  
  
(I absolutely didn’t like the sound of it. Not even a little.)  
  
“Unfucking away!” she trilled. She started to extend a hand, and then stopped. “I’m gonna need contact. Any skin will do. Do I have your permission?”  
  
I should have known she’d need to fucking touch me. Resigned, I held out my hand to her.  
  
Before I could give my permission, though, a sudden realisation hit me like a smack in the face, driving all other thoughts out of my head.  
  
“You’re not wearing a mask!” I blurted out.  
  
How the fuck did this only just occur to me?  
  
I mean, something had been nagging at me this whole time, but…  
  
I guessed it made sense that she wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention walking through the city. But surely she had one she could have just slipped on when she got close?  
  
“Huh? Oh! Right. Um. Don't tell anyone what I look like? I guess?”  
  
And she actually fucking smiled.  
  
Hellfire and damnation. Was she really that naive? Or was she just powerful enough not to care?  
  
Fuck.  
  
Well, too late to do anything about this now, I supposed.  
  
“Of course I won’t,” I assured her. Not that she particularly seemed to need the reassurance. I made no promises about not memorising her face, though. (And I sure as shit wasn’t going to forget her figure. Damn. So envious.) I was going to leave it there, but I just… “That really doesn’t bother you?” I burst out. “You’d trust me, just like that?”  
  
She fixed me with a long, slow stare. Not serious, not calculating, more... Contemplative. Considering. It was like I could hear the gears in her head turning. “Are you saying I shouldn't trust you?” she asked finally. There was a hint of a sly smile in her face, like she was enjoying a hidden joke.  
  
I went very still.  
  
“No,” I said quietly, frustration at her apparent lack of concern making me add, “But I don't see why you would. You don't know me.”  
  
“It's cool," she said dismissively. Like it really wasn't that big a deal.  
  
I just stared at her for a long moment, deeply confused. “Really?”  
  
She gave a low chuckle. “Really.” On that note, she extended her hand once more. “So, do I have your permission to heal you?”  
  
“Yes,” I said, after a moment. What else could I have said? I offered her my hand again.  
  
“Great!” She smiled brilliantly. “Consent is a big deal.” Her grip was surprisingly gentle for someone with those amazing muscles. There was a kind of… tingle… and then she let me go. _That’s it?_ I only just refrained from asking. I didn’t really feel any different. She took a step back, stood on another caltrop that I quickly flattened and moved out of her way. “It’ll take a minute,” she said. “I can give you another hit if it’s not fully healed. It’s not as effective as… as it… as other healing powers.”  
  
I wondered what she’d been about to say before she apparently changed her mind. Not that I had any intention of prying.  
  
“Thanks,” I said, sincerely meaning it. There was something that was nagging at me, just a little. I studied her for a moment, and then carefully said, “Fax said something similar. About consent.”  
  
To my surprise, she froze.  
  
“Yyyyyeah. Heh. Probably… probably got it from him. Heh.” She looked around, clearly ill at ease. What the fuck was she so nervous about? Before I could figure out a way to ask that with something approaching tact, she asked, “How’s the foot?”  
  
An obvious attempt to change the subject. But it was, I supposed, a valid question. I’d let myself be distracted for the moment. Maybe a little more observation would help me figure out what had made her so twitchy.  
  
I looked down, flexing the offending ankle, holding in a grimace at the stab of pain that accompanied the movement. Still damaged, then, but maybe… “Getting better, I think. Hard to say.” Striving to keep my tone casual, I asked, “Are you new to Brockton Bay?”  
  
“Y- yes. That’s why I was lost.” Okay, she was definitely on edge about something. She flexed her fingers, looking down at them. “Got another minute or so, then I can reapply. So, how’d you get hurt? Trip on a nazi? Eheh.”  
  
I grimaced before I could stop myself. Good job my face was hidden.  
  
“Trying not to trip on a nazi, actually.”  
  
I cringed inside at the memory of my ignominious landing. That horrified moment when I realised I was falling fast; faster than I’d planned, and I was about to land **on** one of the assholes Stalker and I were planning on teaching a lesson. That the impact could have broken the Empire thug’s bones, maybe even his neck if he was especially unlucky. Frantically whipping my cables through the air in an attempt to change direction and slow my descent, all at the same time. Feeling my ankle crunch as I hit the ground hard, at the wrong angle to roll with the impact.  
  
Yeah, not my finest hour.  
  
But Mercy was looking at me expectantly, like she was waiting for me to explain.  
  
“Turns out that launching yourself through the air with cables is actually piss-easy,” I told her, aiming for a dry tone. “Landing, though? That’s fucking hard.” I sighed softly. “Half-wish I’d just let the skinhead break my fall, but I didn’t want to risk breaking the motherfucker’s neck by accident.”  
  
‘Killing should be a deliberate action. A choice,’ I remembered my father saying, as he’d disciplined me for excessive use of force. ‘It should not be the result of mere carelessness.’  
  
Fuck, I didn’t want to kill at all. Especially not by accident.  
  
(I wouldn’t kill. I wouldn’t.)  
  
But I couldn’t think about that now.  
  
“And I guess the fight didn’t exactly help my ankle,” I continued belatedly, hoping Mercy would mistake my distraction for embarrassment.  
  
She burst out laughing. Loud; too loud. Before I could gently remind her that we were in enemy territory and point out that maybe a little fucking discretion might be in order, she evidently reached that conclusion all on her own, catching herself and laughing a little quieter.  
  
“Oh man. I know exactly what you mean. Parkour is fun as hell, but the landings can get rough. I’m lucky I can heal myself.”  
  
“I fucking wish I could heal myself.” The words just burst out, envy scorching me from the inside out. “Ice packs can only do so much, and stitching yourself up really fucking sucks.” Even the memory of it made me feel slightly queasy. I pushed it aside as best as I could. “And burns take for-fucking-ever to heal by themselves.” I shook my head. “Healing would be awesome.”  
  
Mercy made a face.  
  
“Blegh. Yeah, I can imagine. Still, your powers are pretty freakin’ cool, right? I didn’t even think about you spider-manning around with it. Fuckin’ neat.”  
  
I couldn’t help smiling a little as I said, “Yeah, my power’s pretty awesome too. And I’m certainly not complaining about it.” That was a fucking weird way of describing how I used my cables to fling and pull myself around, though. I gave her an enquiring glance. “Who’s Spiderman? Is that the arachnoid monster cape out in San Diego?”  
  
She gaped at me, seemingly dumbfounded, before shaking her head in disgust.  
  
“Who’s… ugh. This place, I swear. Also, that’s kind of offensive. The proper term is Case fifty-three.”  
  
It was? Oh, fuck. Of course it was. How could I have forgotten Ms Price’s lecture on the importance of using the right words?  
  
_Goddammit! I thought I was doing better than this. I **will** do better than this._  
  
“Oh. Right,” I said awkwardly, my face heating with shame at my slip. “Case fifty-three. That’s what I meant.”  
  
She waved a hand languidly, dismissing my attack of foot in mouth disease.  
  
“Ehh, mistakes happen. Only way to get better.” Pausing, she glanced at her hands again. “Need another boost?”  
  
I was relieved she didn’t seem to be holding my slip against me.  
  
(Not that I really cared what she thought of me. But still.)  
  
I flexed my foot again — still a little sore, perhaps, but much, much better than it was — and cautiously stood, gradually shifting my balance until I was sure it would support my weight.  
  
“It’s probably healed enough to be functional,” I reported, unable to stop myself from grimacing as I added, “Although I’m probably going to have to give the roof-running a break for a day or so.”  
  
Maybe even two or three days.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Shadow Stalker was never going to let me live this down. She was already insufferable enough about the fact that she was faster than me. Never mind that she’d had way more practice parkouring her way around the city than I had and apparently knew the rooftops like the backs of her fucking hands. Not to mention the fact that her power let her fucking cheat way more than mine did.  
  
But now I was just whining.  
  
I wondered if the cops had shown up to deal with the thugs we took down yet.  
  
I wondered if Shadow Stalker had even bothered to wait for them, or if she’d just fucked off the instant I was out of sight.  
  
I guessed I could ask her when I checked in, but she’d probably just sneer and call me a goody-two shoes rule-follower, or something along those lines.  
  
Fucking bitch.  
  
(Watching her work, though, that had been something else. She might not have had my lifetime of training, but the girl was fucking skilled, no matter how much I despised her as a person. And there had been a strange kind of beauty in her brutal, bloody ballet. Not that I’d had more than glimpses of it, really. I’d had my own dance partners to focus on, after all.)  
  
(Fuck, I’d missed that. Training and sparring, fun as they were, didn’t even come close to the adrenaline high as a real fight against acceptable targets.)  
  
(I guessed that was one advantage of living in Brockton fucking Bay. It sure as shit was a target-rich environment.)  
  
(Fucking nazis.)  
  
“Ahhh, come on,” Mercy wheedled, holding out one hand and giving the dorkiest little wave. “Better to be at one hundred per cent combat effectiveness, right?” She seemed to catch herself there; giving a tiny little head shake. “Wait, never mind. Not gonna pressure you.”  
  
Okay, this was seriously bugging me now. There was something off here; something that had been nagging at me pretty much since she’d first opened her mouth. I’d thought it was the whole ‘no mask’ thing, but it wasn’t. It was… Fuck, I didn’t know. Some weird-ass sense of déjà vu, perhaps? I was pretty fucking sure I’d remember if I’d met Mercy before. Even if she’d changed her hairstyle, the way she was built was pretty goddamn memorable.  
  
(It was everything I aspired to be, and raw, spine-tingling envy shivered along my nerves whenever the light caught her shoulders and biceps, bared by the coat that had slipped halfway down her arms. Absently, I wondered why she didn’t bother to pull it back up. Wasn’t she cold?)  
  
(Maybe her power let her ignore the chill.)  
  
“Well…” I started to say, telling myself that her reasoning made sense, and that accepting further healing didn’t mean that I was going soft. But before I could finish my sentence, a memory surfaced.  
  
Sitting in the PRT staff canteen, chatting with some of the troopers. Well, okay, badgering them for anything they could tell me about Fax. Fucker was powerful; that made him interesting. (It made him a threat.) And the information we got in the Wards briefings was infuriatingly vague. I heard Murphy’s voice again, clear as crystal and twice as sharp, his words slicing right into me.  
  
‘The dude was bright green. Seriously. I didn’t even know Browbeat’s powers could do that. We might need to up the kid’s ratings.’  
  
I could’ve sworn there was an audible click as that final piece snapped into place.  
  
“I’m an idiot,” I muttered, shaking my head. I felt my metal stir, just a little, but I didn’t even try to still it as I pinned ‘Mercy’ with with a glare. “Hello, Fax.”  
  
“Um…” she, no **he** said, squirming like the shifty fucking bastard he was. “M- Mercy, you mean?” Sh- He backed away a step or two, still trying to keep up the pretence.  
  
“I know what I mean,” I growled, mingled humiliation and anger blazing so fiercely inside me it was a wonder I didn’t spontaneously burst into flames.  
  
‘Mercy’ sighed.  
  
“Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea.” He sat, crossing her- **his** legs, elbows on knees, resting chin on folded hands. (Goddammit. Even knowing that this was Fax, it was really fucking hard to keep the pronouns straight when he looked like **that**.) Also, floating three feet off the ground. Fucking show-off. “I don’t suppose we could keep this between us?” he asked, with what was probably supposed to be a winning smile.  
  
All of a sudden, I had to struggle not to see it as a snarl.  
  
(Part of me was casting my mind back over everything I’d said and done since he showed up. Had I given anything away? Had I offended him in some way? Fuck, I only had his word for it that all he’d done was heal me. What if he’d done something else? Who the fuck knew what else the sneaky bastard was capable of?)  
  
“Why the charade?” I asked, more to buy time than anything else. Because I could think of a few very compelling reasons why he’d play coy with his powers, and none of them even had anything to do with fucking with a nobody like me.  
  
Unless… unless he knew who I was; whose daughter I was. Unless he had a bone to pick with Mom or Dad, and wanted to get to them through me. Unless he was playing some kind of fucked up long game.  
  
Not that he could really get to Mom, seeing as she was fifteen fucking years dead and in the ground, but grudges didn’t exactly have to be logical. Anyway, so far as I knew, Dad was still alive and kicking.  
  
(As far as I hoped, despite everything he’d done to me; despite the scars and the goddamn micro fractures and all those countless fucking attempts to force me to trigger. Even after all that, even knowing that he’d break me if he got his hands on me again, I still couldn’t bring myself to want him dead.)  
  
And it wasn’t like Dad didn’t have his own enemies.  
  
But I was probably being paranoid, right?  
  
Even if Fax had seemed downright weird when he’d asked me those stupid-ass questions about being new to Brockton fucking Bay. Like my answer actually meant something to him. Like he was… invested, somehow.  
  
Or was I just being paranoid about that?  
  
Fax was looking somewhat pained. Or possibly constipated. It was really hard to tell. (Or maybe he was just angry.) Either way, the expression looked kind of weird on Mercy’s features.  
  
Or maybe I was seeing things, and it was just the fact that I now knew that Mercy wasn’t real.  
  
(She was just a lie he’d told to get close to me.)  
  
Kind of poetic in a way.  
  
“I… didn’t want the Protectorate to know I’ve been copying Othala’s powers,” he said, after what felt like a fucking lifetime of tense, awkward silence. “Sandbagging, you know? Information is power?”  
  
Well… he wasn’t wrong. And it wasn’t like I didn’t do the same thing with my own abilities when I could.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“I can understand that, I guess,” I said quietly, trying to conceal my unease as I wondered what other capabilities he might have been hiding. Was he a master on top of every-fucking-thing else? I had to suppress a shiver at the thought. “Still pissed off, though,” my stupid pride made me add. “I don’t like being lied to.”  
  
Sh- He winced visibly.  
  
“Yeah, it was a stupid idea all around.” A joint appeared from thin air. He took a big hit from it and then vanished it again, turning his face away from me to exhale. Even given this fucking bizarre situation — even with the sudden apprehension clawing at my gut — I still found myself appreciating that courtesy. “Wasn’t quite at peak performance when I thought of it,” he added.  
  
“What about now?” I blurted out. “Are you still wasted?”  
  
Had he been completely off his ass when he fixed me? Could he have fucked me up somehow, completely by accident?  
  
(Would he fuck me up on purpose for questioning him?)  
  
“Sobered myself up,” he said casually, like it was nothing.  
  
Maybe it wasn’t, to him.  
  
“Pretty fucking stupid to impair yourself like that in the first place,” I muttered, only belatedly wondering if I should maybe have kept my clear disapproval to myself. _Eh, fuck it._ I had my pride. I wasn’t going to cower like a whipped cur just because he outmatched me in just about every fucking way. “You never know who you’re going to have to fight,” I concluded snippily.  
  
“S’fair,” he said casually, seemingly taking my criticism completely in his stride. “Normally run from most fights, if I can help it. And, like you said, I can afford to be sloppy. Most of the time, anyway.”  
  
Was it my imagination, or did he seem a bit sad there at the end?  
  
Fucked if I knew.  
  
Still, even though the last thing I wanted was to think positively of this asshole right now, I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for what I thought I saw in her… **his** … eyes.  
  
He might have been powerful now, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered.  
  
In fact, I knew beyond shadow of a doubt that the only reason he was this powerful was because he’d suffered.  
  
(Because despair had broken him in a way that couldn’t ever be fixed.)  
  
(Just like Dad had broken me.)  
  
_Stupid fucking **feelings**._  
  
Stupid fucking empathy getting in the way of my righteous, justified anger.  
  
Maybe that was why I found myself saying; warning him, really, “You can’t always run. Sometimes you have to fight. Sometimes you don’t have a choice.” But even I heard the envy in my words when I added, “And, just because you can be sloppy, doesn’t mean you should.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair, too.” He absentmindedly ran a hand over the shaved part of his head, grinning a bit. “Aside from it being a poorly-thought-out plan, sometimes I just wanna be pretty.”  
  
Was he fucking with me? Or was he actually serious? I remembered Dennis saying something similar, and then I was just whole worlds of uncomfortable.  
  
Best shut down that whole fucking train of thought before I ended up remembering a certain fucking photo again, and…  
  
(Too late.)  
  
Hellfire and damnation.  
  
With a truly fucking herculean effort of will, I shoved all that irrelevant shit aside and focused on the one part of it I thought I could actually address without my face catching fire.  
  
“Why?” I demanded, confused, disconcerted and really fucking envious all at the same goddamn time. I winced a little as I realised how that sounded; as I remembered Dennis telling me that shit just wasn’t my fucking business. Even if he hadn’t quite phrased it that way. “Sorry, not trying to pry,” I hastened to add. “But if I could do what you can do, I sure as shit wouldn’t use it to be pretty.” Maybe I should’ve stopped there, but against my better judgement, the words just kept tumbling on out of me. “No one respects pretty. They respect strong. Threatening. I don’t understand why you’d want to make yourself a target.”  
  
Fuck me, I wanted his power right now.  
  
I mean, I loved mine; it was fucking awesome. But if I could do what he could do?  
  
(I’d never be helpless again.)  
  
I could guaran-fucking-tee no motherfucker would ever see me as a target.  
  
(All I ever wanted was to be untouchable. Was that really so much to ask?)  
  
But now I was just being stupid.  
  
Like my father always said, ‘Wish in one hand and shit in the other, and it won’t be your wishing hand that fills up first.’  
  
“I mean,” Fax said, his voice thankfully dragging me out of my pointless fucking spiral. “I can do threatening.” And suddenly he was twice the fucking size, breathing out a thin stream of fire that circled his head like a halo. Dripping shadow like a cloak, his eyes gleamed like embers in the darkness, and he loomed over me like something out of a nightmare.  
  
(Not that my nightmares ever needed such special effects to make me wake screaming.)  
  
Metal snapped out around me, cables honed to razor wire; my spider’s web now a forest of blades poised to slice and cut and rend. At the same time I seized the bonds in the wall behind his head, a hair’s breadth away from atomising every last one.  
  
I wasn’t entirely sure what stopped me. Every one of my instincts was screaming at me that the best defence was a pre-emptive strike, but somehow I managed to find the willpower to hold; to stop myself doing something I couldn’t take back before he gave me cause.  
  
Even so, I was surprised when that cause never materialised.  
  
Instead of (proving to me just how fucking helpless I really was) attacking, he just held the shape for a split second, and then promptly reverted.  
  
Now, in place of the flaming fucking… ring wraith… fucking… thing… was just ‘Mercy,’ sitting cross-legged in the air once more.  
  
“But that just makes me an ever bigger target,” he concluded, like none of that had even fucking happened.  
  
_Fuck me._  
  
My heart was going a mile a minute, and I had the uncomfortable feeling my whole body would’ve been trembling like a leaf if I’d allowed it such weakness. Part of me wanted to lash out anyway, just for the fucking scare, but I held myself back.  
  
(What would be the fucking point, anyway?)  
  
(Hell, maybe that was what he wanted; a reason to fuck me up.)  
  
(I couldn’t think of a reason why he’d want to, but it wasn’t like he needed one, was it? Because he could was reason enough.)  
  
(That was how it usually worked.)  
  
“A little fucking warning might have been nice, **asshole** ,” I growled, because I’d be damned if I would let the fucker see how badly he’d rattled me.  
  
My wires shivered in the non-existent breeze, but that… that dogfucking prick Fax seemed completely unfazed.  
  
“Yyyyeah… oops. Sorry.” The chagrin seemed genuine, as did the slightly embarrassed-sounding chuckle, but I just couldn’t trust it. I couldn’t trust any of it. And I sure as shit couldn’t trust him.  
  
Still, it would probably be wise to at least pretend to be mollified.  
  
“No harm done, I guess,” I said grudgingly. The adrenaline rush finally started to fade, leaving me feeling shattered in its wake. I sighed and shook my head. “Not like there’s a fuck of a lot I could do to you anyway, is there?” I asked bitterly.  
  
It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but for some reason he actually answered.  
  
“Actually, you could screw me over pretty badly if you wanted.” He took another puff on his magical appearing-disappearing spliff. (I tried to ignore the unease that shivered through me, telling myself that he could sober himself up any time he chose; that he wasn’t necessarily going to lose control of his power.) “Just a few words to the right people, and bam, independence gone. I’m on a pretty loose leash, but it only takes one mistake to bring the might of the Protectorate down on my ass.”  
  
I froze.  
  
_Oh, fuck._  
  
He… he thought I was a threat to him?  
  
Shit.  
  
Panic fluttered in my chest, but I shoved it down as best as I could.  
  
“I wasn’t planning on ratting you out,” I said, my voice stiff and awkward-sounding.  
  
_Was that convincing enough?_  
  
Shit. What could I do? What could I do?  
  
My metal was there, waiting for me, but I dismissed that out of hand. I wasn’t going to try to… to (kill) hurt someone just because they might possibly be about to try to do the same to me. Anyway, that supposed I even stood a chance in hell of being able to take him out, which… yeah. No guarantees. Who the fuck knew what else he might have been sandbagging about? And if I took a shot and missed…  
  
No. Not a viable strategy.  
  
Anyway, he called himself a hero. That meant he probably wouldn’t take out a Ward just because I had something on him. Probably. I mean, he had shit on me too. He must have realised that I wasn’t technically supposed to be out here, smacking down Empire thugs; that there was a reason I hadn’t just called for a PRT driver to take me back to base.  
  
For that matter, there was the fact that I was wearing a modified basic costume instead of my usual bronze-finished armour.  
  
No, I had to think logically about this. Letting paranoia drive me into a tizzy was counterproductive.  
  
It was much more likely that this whole display was probably just intended to intimidate me into silence.  
  
I resented the fuck out of the fact that it was fucking working.  
  
_Okay. Something else, then._  
  
I shifted position a little so I could pull out my phone.  
  
“Excuse me a moment.” I was aiming for ‘polite’ but came closer to ‘stilted.’ Oh well. If he didn’t realise by now that my conversational skills were for shit, then he never would. “I need to check in with my partner.”  
  
Not waiting for a response, I quickly tapped out a message to Shadow Stalker.  
  
I figured it couldn’t hurt to remind him that he wasn’t the only one who knew I was out here. Anyway, I wasn’t lying. We had agreed that I’d let Stalker know how it went. Admittedly, that was because I was stuck in Empire territory rather than because I was expecting to inadvertently become a threat to Brockton fucking Bay’s newest powerhouse, but still.  
  
I was almost surprised when he didn’t stop me using my phone. I guessed that meant this was just a warning after all.  
  
He breathed a small, audible sigh, doing a creditable job of sounding as if he was actually relieved that I wasn’t going to snitch about his sandbagging. Maybe he was. Who the fuck knew? Clearly not me.  
  
I really fucking sucked at this.  
  
Without saying anything, he slowly started to shift from Mercy back to, well, Fax, I supposed. If that was even was what he really looked like.  
  
Shit.  
  
If he could go from a muscular male short stack to a fucking… Amazonian giantess, just how flexible was his shapeshifting? Could he turn into anyone he liked? Could he imitate people? Could he-  
  
_Oh, holy fuck!_  
  
The transformation really hit its stride now, driving all other thoughts out of my mind, my fingers paralysed mid-text, my whole body still as a statue and my eyes as wide as dinner plates. All I could do was watch, dumbfounded, as the blonde half-mane fell out, the hair disappearing before it hit the ground, the chest flattening and reshaping. At the same time, ‘Mercy’s’ outfit was replaced by Fax’s, one piece at a time.  
  
Except… Except he’d missed a bit.  
  
A… big bit.  
  
_Really fucking bad choice of words, idiot._  
  
“I, uh…” My voice cracked a little. I swallowed hard and tried again. “I think you forgot something.” My face must have been bright crimson under my mask. I gestured vaguely in the direction of Fax’s — technically Mercy’s — ass, started a little when I realised I was still holding my phone, sent the goddamn message and shoved the device back in my pocket.  
  
All the while trying (and failing) to keep my eyes averted from… Farcy? Mex?  
  
Whatever the fuck the abomination in front of me should be called.  
  
_Probably the first,_ my stupid brain insisted on reasoning out. _After all, it’s his top half and her-_  
  
Right. Fine. That was enough of that.  
  
Fax blinked a moment and then floated down to a standing position, where he did a fucking twirl. He laughed, then, and the voice was weirdly somewhere between his and, well, hers.  
  
“Doesn’t really work together, does it?” he murmured.  
  
A heartbeat later, the jeans grew looser in some areas, tighter in others — why the fuck couldn’t I look away? — and were then, thankfully, replaced by slacks and boots.  
  
Jesus fucking Christ, this was uncomfortable.  
  
Not that it seemed to be bothering him any.  
  
“No, I guess not,” I murmured, belatedly answering his question.  
  
Fuck me. That was some power.  
  
_Who would I be,_ I wondered, _if I could be anyone I wanted?_  
  
Wait a minute…  
  
Disturbed for entirely different, less embarrassing reasons, I eyed him suspiciously.  
  
“So, you could be anyone?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “Anywhere?”  
  
That teenage boy? Fax. That aged grandmother? Fax.  
  
That person you trusted? (Assuming you ever trusted anyone.)  
  
Fucking Fax.  
  
Hellfire and damnation.  
  
Fucking changers.  
  
“I mean, I guess,” he said, like it was nothing. While I reeled from that unpleasant thought, his face — well, what I could see of it — practically lit up with what looked like excitement. I bet he had the dorkiest fucking smile under that scarf. “Oh! I know, we can set up a password so you can know it’s me. But a subtle one. Like, I call you a different name or something.”  
  
_Is this motherfucker taunting me? Again?_  
  
But was I going to call him on it if he was? No. No, I wasn’t. There was pride, and there was outright masochism. I had no intention of tempting fate.  
  
“Okay,” I said cautiously.  
  
“How do you feel about Becky?”  
  
Fuck me, he sounded smug. I found myself picturing Dennis’ best shit-eating grin as I eyed him askance.  
  
“Why Becky?” I wondered. The way he said that making me wonder if there was some hidden insult there I just wasn’t picking up on. Unless I was just being paranoid.  
  
“Because nobody in a million years would accidentally call you Becky,” he said, still grinning.  
  
Did I care enough to press? Frankly, no. Anyway, I could always find out for myself, later. When I was safely back in the Wards HQ and he was far, far away from me.  
  
“Fine,” I said. I took a deep, hopefully calming breath (newsflash: it wasn’t, particularly), trying to get my thoughts in order. “So,” I began carefully, “do you believe me? About not giving away your secrets?”  
  
He stared at me for a moment, blinking like he was confused.  
  
“Well, yeah,” he said, doing a pretty convincing impression of someone who meant what he was saying. “You seem like a woman of your word.” _Thank fuck for that._ I mean, he could have been lying; could have been just lulling me into a false sense of security, but what would have been the fucking point? While I was still figuring out how to answer, he added, almost as an afterthought, “And of course I’m not gonna say shit about tonight either, in case you’re worried. Wouldn’t have offered off the books healing if I didn’t mean off the books.”  
  
I had been worried about that, in point of fact. But the message here was pretty fucking clear. I kept his secrets, and he’d keep mine.  
  
(And if I did rat him out, he’d undoubtedly make me regret it in ways that didn’t just involve getting me in trouble with the PRT.)  
  
(I had to suppress a shudder.)  
  
Fine. It was a deal I could live with.  
  
In any case, I wasn’t a fucking snitch.  
  
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t quite make myself smile, but at least I could sound sincere when I added, “And thanks for the healing.”  
  
It probably helped that I really fucking meant that.  
  
“Course,” he said. A bottle of water appeared in his hands, and he chugged most of it in one go before disappearing it again and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Need a lift back? I did offer to take ya flying?”  
  
Fuck, I… really, really wanted to go flying.  
  
_And,_ I reasoned, _if he does want to silence me, there are easier, less public ways than dropping me from a great height._  
  
But…  
  
“You already healed me,” I said reluctantly. “And I don’t like owing people.” But, because I apparently didn’t have the sense I was born with, I found myself asking, “What would you want in return?”  
  
“Uh.” He actually seemed genuinely surprised. Or he was a far better actor than I’d thought. “Flying is fun?” His brows pulled together in a thoughtful look. “I guess I’m thanking you for keeping my secret, if that helps?”  
  
It… kind of did, actually.  
  
Even so…  
  
“And you’re keeping mine. Right?”  
  
Now he just looked confused. Impressive how he managed to convey that with just his eyes.  
  
“Yes. Secrets for everybody.” He looked around, seeming to notice my array of wires and blades for the first time. “You, ah, got everything?”  
  
Barely a thought, and my metal flowed back into its proper place. The feel of it wrapping around me was oddly comforting. Like a security blanket, if that blanket could stop bullets and also slice a motherfucker to ribbons if you needed it to. When everything was where it was supposed to be, I nodded.  
  
“Yeah.” I took another couple of steps towards him, trying to conceal how ridiculously excited I was to be going flying. And also the fact that my ankle still wasn’t quite as functional as I’d like. Actually, that reminded me… “Is there anything I need to know about the healing? Any side-effects?”  
  
“Nah, from what Pan-Pan’s told me it’s just normal healing but super fast and without scars. Actually, come to think of it…” He slowly extended a hand. “I’ve learned from MM that my acceleration can be a bit rough. Want some minor invulnerability before we start so I can really let loose?” His fingertips waggled a little. “Or we can take it slow and steady, if you want.”  
  
Fuck me. He really did remind me of Dennis.  
  
“Pan-Pan?” I asked, my lips curving in a vicious smile without my say-so. “I bet she hates that. I’ll have to remember it.” I sighed softly, the amusement replaced my melancholy as I added, “She fixed me once, and I was starving for days afterwards. That really fucking sucked. But I guess I wasn’t nearly as damaged this time, so it should be fine.” Fucking understatement of the century. But I didn’t want to think about that now, and so I didn’t. Instead, I concentrated on the anticipation crackling through me like electricity, giving Fax a challenging look as I offered him my hand. “Slow and steady is for pussies,” I told him fiercely. “I want to go fucking fast.”  
  
“I’ve never called her that to her face,” he said, chuckling a little. “I admire your bravery if you try it.” Reaching out, he tapped my finger with his, and I felt the tingle of his power. A moment later, a light blue, translucent force field popped into existence around me. It made me feel like I was standing in the middle of a giant soap bubble.  
  
And then, without warning, we were suddenly rocketing up into into the sky.  
  
Over the sound of the rushing wind, I thought I could hear Fax cackling with maniacal glee.  
  
I thought I might have been doing the same.  
  
All the worry, all the fear, all the fucking paranoia just melted right away, leaving behind only one single, solitary thought.  
  
_This is fucking **awesome**!_  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
**Part II : Fax**  
  
"If you want me to slow down," I called out over the roaring winds, "the safe-word is 'candy-ass!'"  
  
Between her cackling with manic glee and the howling of our passage, I wasn't sure she could actually hear me, but the flare of _exhilaration-joy-defiance_ was unmistakable. It took her a moment, but eventually she called back, "Fuck your safe-word. Is this all you've got?"  
  
Oh, I liked her.  
  
My teeth were bared in a feral grin. "Oh bitch you don't know what you just signed up for!"  
  
The world then spun dizzyingly as I threw myself into a corkscrew turn, pivoting her alongside as we spiraled in a double-helix spin _straight for the fucking bay_.  
  
Aside from the initial bout of maniacal laughter, Talos didn't even make a sound as we flew, even as the water grew closer and closer, _exhilaration-glee-anticipation_ building building building to a brief flash of _terror_ as we **smashed** into the water, shields shattering with the impact, and she began to sink like a stone.  
  
Thankfully my empathic sight let me spot her in the pitch-black darkness, and only a few seconds passed before she was wrapped in another shield bubble and jetting out of the water like a submarine-launched ICBM. A bit of spinning, speed-flying, and selectively-permeable space-whale nonsense and we were once more screaming over the bay and then through the city with harrowing speed.  
  
I jinked and spun and danced, buzzing and swerving and flying far too fast and far too low over obstacles far too close. She was silent but her _joy_ was a beacon in the blur.  
  
I admit, I was smiling fucking wide myself.  
  
All good things, however, came to an end. In this case with a warning tingle that her invulnerability wore off.  
  
With a pulse of _disappointment-relief_ from my passenger, I slowed us to a careful stop on top of a random rooftop, panting and smiling. For a moment, we both just stood there, looking out over the city we just raced through. _Goddamn_ I loved my powers sometimes.  
  
Finally, I turned back to my prickly passenger. "Invulnerability wore off. Want a refresher, or another burst of regen for your foot? I can see it's still hurting you, you stoic bitch."  
  
"Fucking hell, you sound like one of the Wards," she grumbled, perhaps a little breathlessly. "It's not that bad. And, like I said, I don't like owing anyone." There was _irritation-annoyance_ , but it was relatively mild, and mostly swamped by the lingering shimmer of _exhilaration-glee_. "That flight was fucking awesome." A little awkwardly, she added, "Thank you."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "You don't owe me shit. Costs me nothing to give you a boost - come on." I held my hand out halfway, daring her to refuse. "As for flying, that was a fucking blast. I had at least as much fun as you did - no debt for that, either way. Nice to have someone who doesn't scream their lungs out at a little acceleration." In Miss Militia's defense, _she_ wasn't invulnerable. I laughed again. "And the bay! _Christ_ that was reckless. So much fun."  
  
"Well... okay. Thanks." She held out her hand, shaking her head and muttering something that sounded a lot like, _"I really am getting soft."_ I tapped her finger, and regeneration tingled further. Damn girl was gonna kill herself playing the tough guy one of these days.  
  
Louder, she continued, "Drowning would've been less fun." _Terror-annoyance_. "But yeah. Reckless, but generally awesome."  
  
I beamed. "Sounds like a great motto. 'Reckless, but generally awesome.'"  
  
"There are worse mottos, I guess," she murmured, reclaiming her hand. She looked at me for a moment, _curiosity-wariness_ , and then, carefully, said, "May I ask a question?"  
  
"Shoot."  
  
I floated away a bit, giving her space. Between her aura and the way she flinched whenever I made sudden movements, she reminded me a lot of the people I knew who suffered from PTSD. I still had to catch myself from my normal expressiveness and casual physical contact, but she was a wreck of roiling emotions beneath the surface half the time, and I didn't want to make it any worse. Once I was a comfortable distance away - and then a bit further - I reclined on nothing, hands tucked behind my head, the picture of relaxation.  
  
"Are you teaming up with Purity?" Her emotions were kind of all over the place, _anger-longing-bitterness-hatred-sadness-shame_.  
  
"Yeah, sometimes. Why?" I answered casually, as if she'd just asked about the weather. I was kinda curious, but not all that invested, and still riding the endorphin high from the flight.  
  
"You know she's still a fucking nazi, right? Even if she's left the Empire." Her emotions were still all over the place, but shading more to anger and hatred now.  
  
"That's fair. I've certainly given her shit for her beliefs, although I know those take a long time to change..." I grinned. "But once you get past all the glowing and the racism, she's a total fox."  
  
Aside from a brief flare of _disgust-embarrassment-shame-fear_ - _christ-that-was-a-lot-of-mixed-emotions_ , she bulldozed right on ahead.  
  
"That shiny metal shit-can undoubtedly still has his hooks in her, too." There was a strong surge of _hatred-fear-anger_ when she talked about Kaiser. "He's not going to let his heaviest hitter walk away without at least trying to reel her back in. So watch yourself."  
  
I gave her a thoughtful look. "That's... a good point. I should..." I appeared my phone, then dismissed it just as quickly. "Nah, she's probably asleep..." I sighed. "I'm still hoping she wises up and joins the Protectorate, although they'll probably move her to another city if she does..."  
  
In the silence that followed, I gave her a curious look. I mean, I had my own reasons to hate Nazis - not that you really needed any additional ones, as they were _fucking Nazis_ \- but she seemed rather... invested. I decided to bite the bullet and ask.  
  
"You've got some pretty strong feelings on the topic. Not that I'm one to suggest hating Nazis is bad, but... is it personal?" At the first spike of _fear_ , I hastily added, "You can just tell me to fuck off if you don't want to answer, of course. Just curious."  
  
She went very still, _panic-anger_. Crap. "I just hate nazis, that's all," she said, _fear-anger-hatred_. "The things they do, it's fucked up."  
  
She fell silent for a moment, and then spoke all in rush, "And they assume that just because you're white, you'll think the same fucked up things and do the same fucked up things." She shook her head, _pain-anger-vindictiveness_. "Beating the shit out of the motherfuckers that tried to recruit me was absolutely worth the hiding I got for it." As soon as she finished speaking, there was a strong flare of _regret-trepidation-anger_ from her, but she didn't say anything further.  
  
Well. She _could_ string more than ten words together after all. Even if her emotions ran all over the fucking place in the process. Not like I disagreed, though.  
  
"Damn right. Fuck those guys." A tiny bit of _relief_ there.  
  
Heh. I had a funny idea. "Want to know another secret?" Without waiting for her to answer, I lowered my voice, leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. "I may look like I'm of 'good stock', but I'm actually a half-Jewish, white Hispanic, genderfucking crossdresser." I leaned back, satisfied. "Purity'd lose her shit if she knew, heh."  
  
Well. I guess she knew about the shapeshifting-crossdressing, considering she confronted me about Schwarz, but I was pretty sure she just repressed the hell out of that knowledge.  
  
Talos was a picture. _Confusion-shock-discomfort-confusion_. "Genderfucking...?" she repeated, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual, and lifting up at the end just enough to make it a question, rather than an echo.  
  
"I don't conform to normal gender expressions, thanks to shapeshifting, and fuck with expectations about what a man or woman should be, act like and look like. Sorry, kind of a niche term."  
  
"Oh. I don't think I've ever come across it before," she said a little stiffly, radiating enough _discomfort_ to be obvious to someone without empathy sight. The _disgust_ , on the other hand, she managed to keep out of her voice and body language.  
  
I frowned slightly, and saw her twitch when she noticed, but let it go with a slight shrug. "If you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. A lot of people are more complex than 'straight or gay, man or woman', despite what popular culture would lead you to believe."  
  
"Thanks," she said, broadcasting _relief_ , but with a faint undertone of _sadness-apprehension-fear_.  
  
I was starting to realize this girl was either seriously questioning or so deeply in the closet she was seeing fauns.  
  
"Hey," I said, my voice suddenly a lot softer. "If you want to talk to someone outside the Protectorate, you've got my number, alright?" A bit more playfully, I added "We've already got eachother by the balls, secret-wise - what's a few more?"  
  
_Damnit, wrong thing to say. Paranoia-suspicion-fear. Fuck, play it off._  
  
I shrugged. "Anyway, how's the foot? And where am I dropping you off?" I had a thought, then added "And do you want to help me prank Clockblocker sometime? Still haven't gotten him back for the freeze prank at - oh, you weren't there yet. But I'm guessing you know what I'm talking about."  
  
She flexed her foot, walking around a little bit. "Fully functional again," she reported, sounding pleased. "I'm going back to the PRT building, so maybe the park near there?" A spike of _apprehension_. "Probably better than landing on their roof. As for pranking Clockblocker, fuck yes." _Anticipation-irritation-vindictiveness_. "I owe that asshole some payback for a pretty fucking princess makeover, and I'm told it's frowned on for Wards to beat the shit out of each other. Do you have anything good in mind?"  
  
I snorted at 'pretty fucking princess makeover'. I could see why she'd be upset at that sort of thing.  
  
"Could offer to have me take him flying? You tell him it's smooth sailing, seeing the sights, then BAM corkscrew into the bay!"  
  
"That could work," she said, nodding. "Although... Hmm. I wonder if I could persuade Glory Girl to follow along and take pictures. For posterity." There was a flare of something that maybe possibly could have been described as _longing_ when she mentioned Glory Girl. Poor thing.  
  
And that was exactly why I stopped getting charges in Glory Girl. Even if she wasn't interested in women, with that aura, you could never really be sure.  
  
"Knowing Vicky, I'm sure she'd be thrilled." Then, with a bit of pride, "Not that she can keep up with me, though. I'm easily twice as fast in the air as she is."  
  
Ooh, that annoyed her. "I hear being too fast can be a problem for some guys," she said slyly, _embarrassed-amusement_.  
  
"Ha!" I rewarded her shot with a broad smile. "I'd extoll the advantages of biokinesis, but... maybe when you're older." _Return fire! Extra patronizing damage!_  
  
She went still for a moment, _fear-embarrassment-regret_ , then laughed awkwardly. "I think being around Clockblocker has had a really fucking deleterious effect on my humour." _Annoyance-anger_. "And you don't have to sound so fucking patronizing." _Direct hit! It's super effective!_  
  
I held up my hands in mock surrender, still keeping my distance. "Just playing along. No offense meant." A pause, then I grinned. "Dude's pretty funny, though."  
  
After a moment or so, she relaxed a little and shook her head. "None taken. And the asshole is annoyingly funny at times. But don't tell him I said that or it'll be weapons grade smug for weeks."  
  
"Ha! He's got nothing on Tattletale." Ain't nobody smug like Tattletale smug.  
  
"Who's Tattletale?" she asked.  
  
Oops.  
  
"Ah, just an annoying Thinker I run into sometimes. You know how smug Thinkers can get. Or... well, maybe you don't. I guess you only know Gallant. And he seems like a standup dude." Couldn't really see Gallant being smug.  
  
Her aura switched to _anger-sadness_. "Mostly. When he's not being a judgmental asshole." And then a sudden spike of _confusion_. "But he's not a thinker. Is he?"  
  
"Uh. The whole empathic-sight thing? The other half of his Master/Blaster powers?" What was she talking about? I knew they tried to disguise Gallant as a sort of Tinker, what with the power armor and all, and kept his Master rating under wraps, but among their own teammates?  
  
She froze, stock-still, staring at me with _shock_ pouring off her in waves. "Empathic sight?" she repeated, voice faint and thready. Other emotions bubbled up beneath the shock, mainly _hurt-fear-anger_. In a stronger voice, "He's a fucking empath?" And now _anger_. "He's been able to see what I was feeling this whole goddamn time?" _Fear-anger_. "And he didn't fucking tell me?" _Hurt-betrayal-anger_.  
  
Well, fuck. "He didn't tell...?"  
  
Oh.  
  
Judging from her reaction... I could see why not letting her know would make sense. Not my first choice, but... I got it.  
  
I wished I'd known, though, so _I_ didn't have to be the one to tell her.  
  
She clenched her hands into fists and stalked towards me, pausing a couple of paces away. I might not have been able to see her face too clearly, but it was pretty obvious she was glaring at me. _Anger-anger-anger_ blazed like the sun, but her next words were enunciated very, _very_ precisely, and her voice was as cold as ice. "Have you copied his power, Fax?"  
  
I held up my hands calmingly-defensively - I saw her flinch, starting to shift into attack mode before reeling it in - and in a hurried voice, "Ten percent, enough to spot people in the dark and be slightly more insightful?" I hadn't meant that to be a question, but damn, that fury.  
  
Pausing for a breath or two, she shook her head sharply, _anger-disgust-vindication_. Her voice dripping with contempt, she said, "So much for the importance of consent." Her voice cracked on that last word, _anger_ lighting her up like a flare.  
  
I flinched back like I'd been slapped in the face.  
  
Well, that blew up _spectacularly_.  
  
_Why me?_  
  
I'd be the first to admit I was a bit fidgety, moreso while upset. It took all my willpower to keep still, not move my hands, not piss her off any more than she already was.  
  
Whirling on her heel, she strode across the rooftop, away from me and, in one smooth motion, scooped up some piece of debris or detritus. The object disappeared in a shower of dust, her emotional aura spiking with something that looked a lot like _bliss_ for a brief moment before settling down again into _anger-fear-pain_. The mixture was noticeably more muted than the previous blaze of _anger_ , but still very much present.  
  
Jesus. If there was ever a clearer case of shard-fuckery, I'd never seen it in person. Blissing her for _atomizing_ stuff? For fuck's sake, it's like they _wanted_ her to be a tyrant. I wondered if she was Manton-limited. I wondered if it would matter, if we fought.  
  
_Note to self: only ever engage Talos at range._  
  
She started pacing the rooftop and, never once looking in my direction, spoke low and fast; a babbling torrent of words. Her emotions were all over the fucking place.  
  
"You know, my life has never been my own. I- I was meant for... I had a... a purpose. And nobody gave one single, solitary fuck about what I wanted. Or didn't want. I wasn't allowed... Things could always be taken away. Friends were a luxury I couldn't afford. My time was spoken for. Even m-my body wasn't mine, not really. It was just a tool. A fucking weapon. And all it had to do was obey." _Fear-pain-shame_. "The one, the... the only thing I had that was mine, truly mine, was what was in my head. N-now it turns out that I don't even have that. And the person who took it from me is the only fucking one who ever in my whole life told me I had a choice."  
  
She came to a halt by the edge of the roof, her gaze turned outwards, across the city, _anger-fear-pain-despair_. Small and lost and bewildered, she said, "Why the fuck didn't he tell me? It's not like I could stop him."  
  
Jesus fuck. If I had suspicions she had PTSD, consider them confirmed. What kind of fucked up upbringing did she have? A living weapon? For fuck's sake!  
  
Ok, keep focused. She asked me a question. Well. Not me in particular, but she _did_ ask a question. I felt the need to speak up in poor Dean's defense; I was sure he meant well, even if his discretion let _me_ stumble on that landmine.  
  
"He's a good kid. He had his reasons, I'm sure... He'd be the one to tell you himself, but if I had to guess? It's like... " My mind raced, trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that made sense to her. Then I remembered a particular burst of _longing_ , and an idea came to mind.  
  
"Victoria can't control her aura, right? It's always on, even if just a little, and it means she can never tell if the friends she makes are real or just people soaking up her power like the sun. Gallant... He's like that in reverse. He can't help what he sees, but if he ever tells someone, they can never look at him the same way. Always gonna worry that he's picking apart their inner thoughts, even if - he told me how hard he tries not to violate people's privacy. He's... Doing the best he can with a power he has no choice whether or not to use."  
  
She didn't answer at first, so I kept going, hoping she wouldn't let this be swept under the rug. As painful as that admission must have been for her, she trusted me - even a little - to listen and, maybe, actually do something about it. I at least had to make an offer.  
  
"I... Look. That sounds seriously fucked up. I only know how to solve problems two ways - diplomacy and powers. My offer to listen is still on the table - over the phone if you don't want my discount empathy to be a factor - and if there's someone who... " Arg, fuck, _words_. "Whoever did this, I'm a powerful dude. I grabbed Alabaster, Krieg, Oni Lee. Just say the word. Whoever... whatever _cunt_ treated you that way, I can deal with. If you want."  
  
I didn't use that word lightly, but someone who would treat a child like that... I tried not to let my rage show.  
  
She sighed, slumping visibly, _embarrassment-regret-anger-pain-confusion_. "Victoria's aura really is something else," she murmured, again with that brief pulse of _longing_.  
  
I ducked my head, trying not to show my mild amusement-worry at her reaction to Vicky. Poor girl had it _bad_.  
  
She turned to face me. "I guess I'll have to figure that out with Gallant." _Dread-anger-confusion_. I did not envy Gallant. Taking a breath, she studied me for a moment, _wariness-embarrassment-anger-fear_. "As for the rest of it," she said dismissively, "don't get so worked up. It wasn't that bad. I was probably just being melodramatic."  
  
I took a deep breath. Nothing would be gained by anger, nor pity. I almost spoke, thought better of it, paused to consider my words more carefully. How best to phrase it...  
  
"I don't think you were being melodramatic. And minimizing your feelings is a good way to let bad things happen. And for those assholes to get away with it. Do it again. They never only do it once." There. If she didn't do it for herself, she might do it to protect someone else. Play to her strengths. Judging by her _anger-shame-humiliation_ , I'd at least struck a nerve.  
  
When she said nothing, deep in thought, I kept going. I spoke calmly and slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I won't do anything if you tell me not to. But I will _bury_ a motherfucker if he looks like he's emotionally or physically abusive. Had enough of my friends hurt that way that I have very... Low tolerance for that sort of thing. I have connections. I know people. And I get more powerful every day."  
  
That was definitely a spike of _wariness-fear_ , growing as I spoke, right along with _anger_. Fuck. Maybe I'd... oh, shit, my GG aura. What was the range on that thing? Deep breaths, calm down.  
  
"It wasn't abuse," she snapped. "People keep telling me that, but it's not... It wasn't... It was training. Or... or punishment, when I fucked up." She took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down. "I'm not a fucking victim. So don't... don't judge me. You don't know anything about me or about my life. Where the fuck do you get off telling me I'm weak? I- I'm not. I might be broken, but I'm not fucking weak."  
  
Fuckdamnit. Damage control.  
  
"Shit, I don't think you're a victim. You're still here, still fighting. You've been through hell and came out kicking. I respect the hell out of that. But that doesn't make what happened..." I sighed, looking away for a moment. Fuck, I might as well be honest.  
  
"I'm shit at this. Sorry." She blinked. "Just... If you ever... If you ever want to do something about it, just give me a name. They'll never..." Don't say hurt anyone, fuck. How to phrase... "they won't be a threat anymore. To you or anyone else."  
  
In a flash of _panic_ , she shouted, "You stay the fuck away from my family!"  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh, _fuck_.  
  
I scowled, ducking my head so she wouldn't see it past my hat and scarf. Those _motherfuckers_.  
  
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she froze, _horror-fear_. "Fuck. I didn't... didn't mean to say that." She sounded utterly miserable. "I shouldn't have said any of it. Hellfire and damnation. I'm so fucking stupid."  
  
"You're not stupid." My voice was quiet, but insistent. _Deep breath_. I looked up to meet her gaze, trying to express my earnestness. "I won't say anything else. Won't do anything else. Not without your say-so. And I won't say a word of this to anyone else, either. It's your business. We can end the conversation here if you want. Just know that my offers are open. You need something, you tell me. I don't like to make promises, but I will listen."  
  
She was quiet for a while, her emotions a veritable riot of colors. Slowly, though, they settled down, smoothing out until the dominant shade was one of _confusion_. "Why? We're not teammates. I'm not a threat to you. You don't know me. You don't need anything from me that you couldn't take. So why would you offer me anything at all?"  
  
Goddamnit, she was breaking my heart here. I looked away again before pity could show in my eyes. Another deep breath. Think.  
  
My voice was quiet. "What's the point in having power," or money, or privilege, or superpowers, "if you don't do good with it?" I met her gaze again. "I'm not a hero, I'm certainly no saint... But I do like helping people." A bit less quiet, a bit of smile in my voice. "'Sides, you're cool. And fun to fly with." Heh. "And don't treat me like a princess because you want me to join the Protectorate."  
  
There was a sudden bright flare of _amusement_ in her emotions and she snorted, shaking her head. "Why the fuck would I care if you join the Protectorate? It's your life. Do what you want." A brief, strong pulse of _envy_ flared when she said that, but she sounded reasonably good-humored when she said, "Flying was fucking awesome, though." She was still troubled, clearly, but among all the negative emotions clustered around her like a cloud, when she talked about flying, there was a distinct glimmer of _happiness-joy_.  
  
Thank christ. That could've gone way worse. Flight to the rescue!  
  
And on that note...  
  
"...Wanna go for another spin?"  
  
"If you're not too busy," she said, casually, but her aura was all _intense longing-anticipation-glee_. I couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Shiiiit, never too busy for a joyride." I held out my hand. Then, with exaggerated nonchalance, asked "Just out of curiosity, how do you feel about skydiving?"  
  
I had an idea.  
  
"I've never done it," she said, just as nonchalantly, all the while broadcasting _hope_ as she took my hand. "Why?"  
  
A tingle, passing from hand to hand. A bubble appeared around her, but this time I flew up more casually to start. _Suspiciously_ casually, I was sure. "Oh, you know... Just seeing how you'd react to me dropping you into freefall from a mile over the city."  
  
And then I **rocketed** us upward, city rapidly shrinking down below.  
  
I shouted, "Don't worry! I'll _probably_ catch you before you hit the ground!" Heehee.  
  
"Motherfucker!" she yelled, her emotions a riot of _glee-fear-anticipation_ , with maybe a dash of _reluctant-admiration_ thrown in. "If you're expecting me to back down, you can go fuck yourself. Sideways. With a goddamn shovel. Do your fucking worst."  
  
Oh man, she was definitely a fun one. Well. Sometimes. Whatever, she was absolutely horrible at backing down from a challenge and had balls of steel. The least I could do was indulge her deathwish.  
  
"Your wish is my command, princess!" My speed doubled, clouds rapidly approaching.  
  
She snapped something that might possibly have been, "Don't fucking call me princess," but between the speed, the wind and the _exhilaration-terror-anticipation_ it came out a little garbled.  
  
And then we were through the clouds until it was a moonlit night and sky full of stars. Distantly, a lone plane flew overhead, lights twinkling in the dark. I slowed, like hitting the top of an arc, and for a breathless moment it was just us and the sound of the wind.  
  
And then the shield flickered and disappeared, and the two of us fell, unaided, from the sky.  
  
I was calm as the buddha, keeping pace with her about ten feet away, watching her emotions with amusement.  
  
Other than her initial outburst, she had stayed silent, her emotions speaking for her. And they were speaking loud and clear. _Awe-wonder-exhilaration-glee_ on the ascent, _anticipation_ rising to a peak at the apex of our arc, and then _exhilaration-terror-joy-terror-awe-terror-glee_ on the way down.  
  
She was considerably less calm about all this than I was, but even during a particularly strong spike of _terror_ as the ground hurtled towards us, she didn't make a sound.  
  
Instead, metal _exploded_ out from her body. A forest of cables whipped out, latching onto my arms, legs, around my throat-  
  
_"-Gurk!"_  
  
I slowed, incidentally swinging her around me like a pendulum. My first thought was to keep her from falling - I tried to wrap her in a shield bubble but the damn cables were in the way, so I shot towards her and caught us both in one, slowing to a stop. I was a few seconds away from using my powers to get rid of these damn things - I'd automatically grown a foot or two in size, but that only tensed the damn cables tighter. I could probably blast through them...  
  
I had only just managed to pull one of my arms closer to my throat when she exclaimed "Fuck!" and retracted the cables with _panic-fear-anger-shame_. First, the ones around my neck and then, a beat later, the others. "S- sorry. I didn't mean... Sorry." _Fear-dread-anger-shame_. "Are you okay?"  
  
Deep, gasping breaths. "Hooo..." I let out, shrinking down to normal, waving off her concern. She'd only feel worse if I let on how close to panic I was.  
  
Coughing, slumping against the curve of the shield like an awkwardly shaped chair, half-sitting with my hands on my knees, I tried to lighten the mood. "Easy there, garrote. Didn't figure you for the clingy type."  
  
Silence.  
  
Huh.  
  
No snappy response?  
  
I looked up in concern to see her pressed up against the other side of the shield, about as far from me as she could get, her cables arrayed around her in a defensive configuration. _Loathing-fear-shame-panic_ were swirling biliously through her aura as she stared at me. "Don't call me that," she said, practically breathing the words. "Why would you...? What do you...? Don't call me that. That's not my fucking name."  
  
"Um." I blinked. The hell was that about? "Garotte is a case 53 with a bunch of tentacles. She's... grabby... I didn't mean anything by it..." I had no idea why what I'd said had set her off like that, but I felt compelled to add, "Sorry, Talos."  
  
She stared at me for a few seconds more, _horror-shame-loathing_ , and then the cables retracted again. "Oh. I've... never heard of her." She sighed. "Hellfire and damnation. You don't need to apologize. I'm just being an idiot." _Intense-loathing_. "Sorry."  
  
Jesus, this girl was a mess.  
  
I blew out a sigh. "You're not an idiot. I'm the one traipsing through a minefield, pushing all your buttons." I winced. "I have a bad habit of doing that. You should see how-"  
  
You know what, nope! I wasn't gonna compare her to Purity. Probably wouldn't appreciate that. Even if they did have some things in common.  
  
_See? I can have SOME tact._  
  
"Anyway, that was pretty cool. Combat tentacles for the win. Remind me not to get on your bad side. More than I already am," I added, softening my tone with a rueful grin.  
  
"Look on the bright side," she answered with what seemed to be an attempt at humour. "I didn't sharpen them." Despite her joking tone, she flared with _horror-loathing-shame_. The fuck was up with that? "Anyway, you're not on my bad side. The fucking awesome flight makes up for a lot." _Sorrow-apprehension_. "Sorry I fucked this one up." _Apprehension-fear-resignation_. "Are you going to retaliate? For me attacking you?"  
  
Retaliate? What the fuck?  
  
No, seriously, what the fuck kind of upbringing did this girl have?  
  
I wished, hoped, _prayed_ that she let me at them. I'd tear a motherfucker to pieces for turning a girl into this fucking _wreck_.  
  
Kept all that to myself, though. "I'd probably still survive that," I said, trying to play it off. "It's cool. No harm done, right? I dropped you from the fucking sky, not like the reaction was unwarranted, you know? Shit, I'm still amazed you didn't scream."  
  
Scrutinizing me for a moment, she actually seemed to relax a little. Then she snorted disparagingly. "Takes a fuck of a lot more than mortal terror to make me scream." _Bitterness-pain-amusement_. For fuck's sake... "But I'm glad you're okay." _Relief-shame_.  
  
I'd seen fewer rapidly-shifting colors in a fucking kaleidoscope.  
  
I went through a couple dialogue choices. Saying it'd take more than a clingy teenage girl to make me sweat... too insulting. Saying I had enough Brute powers to survive the worst she could throw at me... probably just make her more panicky-afraid.  
  
In the end I just smiled, shrugged. "No harm done. Want to keep flying?" _Tact!_  
  
"Fuck yeah." _Relief-anticipation-glee_.  
  
Good to know my powers were still good for _something_ in this clusterfuck of a conversation.  
  
And with that agreement, I disappeared the bubble and dropped us from the sky again.  
  
_Look, just because I could occasionally exercise tact doesn't mean I'm not still delightfully impulsive and unpredictable. I have a reputation to uphold._  
  
Grinning like a loon, I prepared to bubble us both again if she got grabby, but otherwise I just kept pace with her as the city got closer and closer and closer...  
  
Maybe her metal didn't exactly stay still on the rest of the way down, but she at least refrained from lashing out again. From the balance of _exhilaration-terror-glee_ pouring off her, she was both scared out of her mind and having the time of her life.  
  
Maybe five hundred feet from the ground, the shield bubble appeared and slowed her down - but not fast enough, it seemed, and the ground approached too fast too fast until with an abrupt stop the shield **shattered** on the ground and she was fine, deposited on her feet, on the grass of a park. The park she told me to drop her off at, in fact.  
  
10 out of 10.  
  
I stood some ten feet away, beaming at her. "Not even a peep. Balls of steel, Talos."  
  
"Th- thanks." She looked up at the sky we just plummeted from and then down at the ground. "That was fucking awesome." She shone with the simple light of pure _joy_.  
  
"I know, right?" My smile couldn't be wider. "Lemme know when you want to go flying again. Or talk. Or spar, since I can actually use all my powers with you - you'd be surprised how much sandbagging sucks. And you seem hardcore enough to give me a run for my money even then."  
  
"I'd love to spar," and I could see her teeth flash white in the darkness as she smiled, _anticipation-excitement_. "You know, Wards aren't even supposed to leave bruises?" _Disdain-disappointment_. "It'll be nice to be able to go all out without having to worry about breaking someone."  
  
"And with biokinesis and regen, no bruises!" Yeap, I was still beaming. "You've got my number. Call me whenever." I floated up a bit, preparing to leave.  
  
"I'll do that," she said. "Thanks for the joyride. And for fixing me."  
  
"Can't fix what ain't broke," I said with a grin and a wave. Then I supermanned away, making a "whoosh" noise with my mouth for emphasis and childish amusement.  
  
Despite myself, I couldn't help but reflect on all the shit I learned about her over the last hour. She was... well, she was a wreck, held together with spite and duct tape, in serious need of a lifetime of counseling and a safe place with plenty of understanding friends. I hoped the Wards treated her well.  
  
More importantly, though...  
  
_I still had no fucking idea who the hell she was._  
  
She wasn't canon.  
  
She wasn't my creation.  
  
What the fuck was going on?


End file.
